


Our Earth Logic

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-07
Updated: 2007-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take one Tuesday night, three Sports Night employees and a little alcohol, then listen to the conversation.</p><p>(Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/157269">Insane Troll Logic </a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Earth Logic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/gifts).



> Written for [](http://celli.livejournal.com/profile)[**celli**](http://celli.livejournal.com/)'s Taxfic '07 challenge and as a sequel to [Insane Troll Logic](http://community.livejournal.com/inthetallgrass/138830.html). Huge thanks to [](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/profile)[**phoebesmum**](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/) for betaing at the drop of a hat. The effort was greatly appreciated.

Anthony's was suffering the usual Tuesday night crowd of hardened drinkers, self-pitying stockbrokers and one noisy sports show crew. Tonight wasn't a commiseration -- the last minute Rangers scoop had ensured that -- and wasn't quite a celebration -- not after Danny's referring to "the team previously known as the Wassington Shenators" -- but the show had been one of their better ones, the beer was fine and the company was cheerful. Casey was having a good time.

It helped that Danny was playing footsie with him under the table.

"What happened to Dan's accountant?" Dana's question seemed to come out of the blue, but not out of a giant blue margarita. (After the unfortunate incident of a can-can line on the bar-top, the ban at El Perro Fumando had become permanent.) The dry martini in her hand probably had something to do with it, though.

Dan was pretending to do the crossword, pen in hand, and using that to ignore the conversation.

"Nothing's happened to Dan's accountant," Casey replied, after a moment of careful -- and slightly buzzed -- thought. Dan's accountant was a ridiculously tall, dark-haired guy called Chris Saul; Casey was pretty sure his middle name was Lurch. He wore small, round granny-glasses that hovered on the end of his nose and took notes in indecipherable scratchings.

Casey knew this because Lisa had somehow got their accountant in the divorce but Danny had been willing to share his. Said a lot about the both of them, really.

"Nothing happened?" For the five hundredth -- or maybe sixth -- time that night, Dana lifted up her olive, sucked the alcohol from it and then returned it to the martini glass. It was distracting. Not quite like the way Danny's socked foot was brushing against Casey's calf, sure, but still distracting. "Really? He studied and got nowhere?"

Casey frowned. "You've lost me." Then he looked across at Danny. "This conversation has lost me."

"The conversation never found me." Danny grinned and pressed his foot a little harder against Casey's leg. "So what are we talking about?"

Casey shrugged and pointed at Dana beside him, who had started playing with the toothpick again. "Dana says you studied for Chris."

"No, I didn't." Dropping the Times to the tabletop, Dan caught Dana's eye. "I don't study for my taxes. I just bring the receipts and Chris does the rest."

"Your accountant is called Chris?" Dana asked.

"Yeah, Chris Saul," Dan said. "He's a good guy."

Casey added, "But a very tall one. Freakishly tall."

"Dikembe Mutombo tall," Dan said.

"Yao Ming tall."

"Sun Ming Ming tall."

Casey grinned. "Ri Myung Hun tall."

"Alexander Sizonenko tall," Dan replied, and Casey was trying to think of a taller basketball player when Dana started tapping her nails on her glass.

"Wait." She looked confused. "Your accountant is a guy?"

Dan nodded. "My accountant's always been a guy."

"As far as you know," Casey added.

"You think I wouldn't notice if my accountant was suddenly a girl?"

"I'm saying you might not know everything about your accountant. Maybe Chris was once a Christina. You can't make random assumptions these days, Danny."

"He's nearly seven foot tall."

"Then Christina would have been a very tall woman," Casey admitted, "but my point stands."

Danny shrugged, but it was Dana who spoke. "The accountant, the one that you studied accounting to try to impress, was a guy?"

"I never studied to impress --" Dan started as Casey kicked him softly under the table to remind him that, yes, there had been beers and martinis consumed tonight but that didn't make Dana any *better* at keeping secrets.

"Wrong accountant," Casey said quickly.

Dana gave a little shrug, showing that this made the story much less interesting. "Did anything happen?"

"Nah," Danny said. "Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing."

"He studied, he quoted withholding rates and exemption categories, and she thought he was too nerdy."

"She did not think I was nerdy," Dan objected. "She simply said that my ability to explain qualifying trusts made her nervous."

"Nervous, nerdy," Casey said, weighing each word in a hand, "they're kind of similar. Maybe you misunderstood her."

"Yeah, like you're about to misunderstand a sharp slap to the back of the head," Danny bickered back. Casey would have taken the threat seriously -- or as seriously as he ever took threats of physical violence from Danny -- if it wasn't for the gleam in Dan's eye.

Danny lifted his beer to his lips and raised his brows for a moment, and that sharp, cheeky expression proved Casey hadn't lost any brownie points. Licking his lips, Dan slid his foot higher between Casey's calves.

Blinking, Casey noticed Dana was speaking. "What?"

"I'm just saying," she said slowly, speaking just loud enough to show she'd boarded the bus and was on her way to Drunksville. "I'm saying that there's no point studying."

Dan caught Casey’s gaze and smirked. "Says the woman with a Masters."

"I'm saying there's no point," she repeated. "If you have to study, the girl isn't worth impressing."

"Maybe not," Dan agreed, "but can I get back to my crossword?"

Dana snorted. "Who brings a crossword to a bar?"

"Someone with limited social skills," Casey supplied.

Dana turned to him with a frown of concentration on her face. "You brought a crossword?"

"No, I'm saying Dan did."

"You said you did."

"I said someone with limited social skills."

"Exactly," Dana said, seizing the point. "Of the three of us, you are the most limited person by far. What did you expect me to think?"

"That I was insulting Danny in a familiar and patronising way designed to show affection and reaffirm the bonds of our friendship." He looked to Danny for some back-up, but got waved off. "You're not going to help?"

"I'm doing my crossword." True to his word, Dan scribbled in a few letters but left his foot hooked around Casey's ankle.

Dana started to lean towards Casey. Or started listing towards him. Listing was probably a better description for being so drunk she was having trouble sitting upright, but she wasn't at that stage yet. "Why is he doing a crossword?"

"He's trying to embiggen his vocabulary."

Dan looked up at him, which was the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Seriously, Casey, that joke wasn't funny four hours ago, and its humour potential hasn't increased in the last three times you've said it."

"What if I say it a fourth time?"

Dan rolled his eyes and turned back to his crossword.

"Ignoring the fact that 'embiggen' isn't a real word and you're still not allowed to use it on-air," Dana said, "what's wrong with Dan's vocabularl-- vocubal-- word use?"

"There's a political fundraiser on Saturday."

Dana sniggered. "For Hillary Clinton?"

"For Hillary Clinton herself."

"He thinks using big words will impress her and make her talk about that nice young Rydell boy?"

Casey looked at Dan carefully. Dan kept his head down, pretending to ignore the conversation, but his pen had stopped moving. It was a telltale sign. "I don't think she'll refer to him as the Rydell boy. Even young man is pushing it these days. But I'm sure she'll be impressed."

Dan stopped the charade. "But 'ooh, instantly forgotten' impressed or 'send me your resume and maybe we can work together' impressed? That's the important question."

"You looking for another job?" Dana asked.

Dan shrugged. "I think I could offer her something."

"Critique on her shoes?"

"Some insight from the common working masses. A way to be in touch with the political youth of today."

Dana snorted. "You appear on national television most nights and earn at least five times the average salary of those common masses."

"Also, describing yourself as a youth is really pushing the boundaries of belief," Casey added, "and referring to today's youth as political is oxymoronic at best."

"You're oxymoronic," Dan muttered.

"There is a dictionary in our office. Feel free to use it any time you want," Casey said, and Dan pulled his foot back to his side of the table. Which was clearly unfair; Casey hadn't been trying to be mean or anything. "What would you do there? I'm pretty sure there isn't a campaign position for comic relief."

"I'd be a speechwriter. Or in charge of communications. I'd deal with the press and write stirring speeches, and appear beside her at galas dressed in white tie and tails." Dan sighed in a way that could only be described as dreamy, besotted and extremely deluded. "It'd be like my job now, except no sport, no chaos, no network threatening me with gag orders. I'd be making a difference in the world and, after a few months, Hillary would turn to me -- probably dressed in wine-coloured silk and Chanel slingbacks -- and say that my presence on the campaign had reinvigorated her political chances and that she'd personally found herself inspired by my words."

"This would be more convincing if you could write a script that went more than seven minutes without throwing to me," Casey said, trying not to be jealous of Dan’s ridiculous crush. He nearly succeeded. "Unless you think dear Hillary’s chances would be improved by banter."

Dan rolled his eyes. "I don’t think Hillary needs help in the banter department."

"But she needs your media expertise?" Casey asked and Dan nodded. "Considering your stunning history with interviews and your ability to annoy reporters, I think your reasoning leaves something to be desired. I'd even say it doesn't resemble Earth logic at all."

The bitter twinge of jealousy disappeared when Dan's foot slid over to once more join Casey’s. "You know the actual quote is 'Your logic does not resemble our Earth logic', right?"

Dan grinned brightly – the type of smile that clearly said Casey was being an idiot but Dan could forgive him for it -- and Casey had to smile back. "You're assuming I was trying to quote something."

"I'm assuming you were insulting me to affectionately reaffirm our friendship.”

"Something like that," Casey agreed. "Mind you, Hillary would probably find the ability to quote depreciation rulings very sexy."

"Nothing’s sexier than tax rulings, Casey."

Dan slid his foot up Casey’s calf, and Casey wanted to say he could personally list at least five things Dan could do that were far sexier than memorising tax rulings, but a crowded public bar really wasn’t the place for it. He’d prove his point when they got home.

Beside them, Dana snorted. "No wonder you didn’t get the girl."  



End file.
